Five DollarsThe first man who gave me away cherished me for a long time first. He saw me as crisp and unblemished and I reminded him that new, glorious things would come to him in the future if he kept his outlook positive and his hopes high. To his fingers, I felt smoother and silkier than the skin of a goddess. I smelled to him like freedom. He hadn't experienced that in a long time. The man felt he'd earned me and while most would have only kept me in wait for so long to save me for something special, he held onto me for a far more intense purpose. To remember. But time passed and the man's memory waned and so did my perfection. He realised the future wasn't so beckoning and bright and simple and I was worth little more to him than a pack of cigarettes, and he needed far more than a pack of cigarettes to get by, if he wanted to reach that dream that freedom had granted him, once, so long ago. So he gave me away in exchange for that pack of cigarettes, while he gathered up the nerve to take some
Jesus Don't Want Me For a SunbeamIt's a complex block puzzle designed in the early 1970s by a German professor with umlauts in both his first and last names and it sits in pieces on the worn mahogany table, staring up at the three of them, beckoning, waiting to be completed.
Lady Gaga, Reduced to Ashes, A Phoenix to Arise